The photo at the beginning of this post is a picture of a crab, or, more accurately, a symbol of my mood. Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration; I’m just not really a “holiday” person in general and I do my best to sleep through as many of them as possible. But, you know, I should totally be able to rally behind the idea of giving the middle finger to “The Man” (in this instance, King George) and stuffing one’s gullet full of meat before getting drunk and watching pyromaniacs blow shit up. I mean those were the integral ingredients to every party I attended from 1986-1993. What’s not to love?
Actually, I think I posted the crab picture because, as I stood in line last Sunday at the J & P West Coast Seafood stall at the Hollywood Farmer’s Market, the poor, delicious dead thing seemed to be calling my name. I struggled to find a way to change my soup plans from mussels to crab, but thought better of being so impulsive when I realized I had already bought the ingredients for my supporting courses to the mussel and fennel bisque. I stick to a plan once a plan is in place (maybe that’s why my personal life is such a mess?). And I also think I’m holding out to do a crazy seafood grill party (grillapolooza!) sometime in August out on my sadly underutilized urban patio. I imagine me and a Weber grill and oysters and crab and Bloody Marys and tons of beer. Maybe we could throw some meat in there, too, in honor of the keeper of the family grill secrets, my dad.
